It was an eerie start to the trip. Gordon was unfortunately unable to travel. His daughter wasn’t well and his friend was involved in a fatal motorcycle accident hours earlier, on the M1. These thoughts were very much on our minds as we set off in the heavy traffic, due to the M1 closure, in the dark and fog. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen family emergencies, Paul reluctantly also had to cry off also.
Breakfast at Camp Fuente De
The four Amigos, Mick Pat Ger rand Derek met at a stop on the Naas road to commence our journey, only slightly late! As the sun rose our spirits were lifted. One stop at Cashel for the jumbo breakfast roll. Then on to Ringaskiddy to the ferry. We boarded without any hitches. We had an extremely calm crossing, lots of craic and plenty of sleep (more than 26 hr crossing). While on board Mick and Derek had to persuade a crew member to allow them down to the car deck to retrieve some items of clothing for the long trip! We were rearing to go on our arrival at sunny Santander
Santilana del Mar was short, part of which was a stage some days later of the Vuelta. The beautiful old town of SdM is incidentally known as the town of the three lies. It’s neither saintly, nor flat, nor on the coast. Some exploration was done followed by food and Rioja. The campers amongst us were disappointed when they discovered a campsite nearby as they missed an immediate opportunity to set up their tepees, wigwams and clothes lines etc! One member of the group, who shall remain nameless, left his credit card in the “hole in the wall”. He didn’t realise this till sober the next morning and lucky for him the friendly bank manager was able to retrieve his card.
The following morning we headed west along CA131 to the coast. A couple of coffee and lunch breaks at Comillas, LLanes and Posh Ribadesella by the beach. We decided it must be posh as all sunbathers had their clothes on! Mick and Derek were going to camp by the coast in Gijon but made a snap decision to travel to Oviedo with us instead to see the UNESCO world heritage church overlooking the city. The lads were really blown away by those old buildings!! After exhaustive searching for another inland campsite on a cross country spin through cow shit covered lanes they eventually came back to Oviedo and stayed in a premium grade hotel(not), which had bike parking for €7.50 each. The moral of that story is NEVER CHANGE THE PLAN. The Ruta venos was well worth discovering that evening with lots of locals frequenting the many Tapas bars, all located on two streets. Friday night heaven for some.
On the Picos
On Saturday morning we set off for the mountain village of Bermiego, along the As228. This is an old world picturesque village set in a time warp. The views from here were stunning with the Picos in the background. It has lovely examples of the horreo (grain store), typical of the area. We headed down hill to Barzana and on to Pola for lunch. Those menus Del dias proved a great success and was very reasonable. Three courses from €10 to €15 with wine water and crusty bread, leaving room for the tapas later. Next was Cangas, a very busy town, known as the Gateway to the Picos, via Cabana quinta, Nava and Infiesto.Well we thought we were staying in Cangas, we then discovered we were in a s---hole (road works)/hamlet called Corao. After blaming Pat for this ‘F’ up, Ger suddenly recalled that she had booked a lovely, quaint, rural hotel including a breakfast of homemade jams, yogurts, cakes etc. She was well chuffed! The campers headed down the road to their campsite in Avin. They disappeared in to the hills to the sound of the clanging of tins, mugs and jugs in the distance. Or maybe that was that just the cowbells? A small site, but they still managed to meet a Dub in the bar!
Still with clear blue skies, the next morning brought us back to Cangas for a photo op at the beautiful medieval stone bridge there. Next was the beautiful Basilica in Covadonga and again sometime later the Vuelta passed this way. Covadonga is well worth a visit, a massive basilica and crowds of people attending a religious festival. The AS114 took us to Panes, a quiet unassuming town for yet another fine menu. We took the N621 to Potes, via La Hermida with its opportunity for shopping and photos. All the roads were fantastic for motorcyclists. Here we parted company with Mick and Derek as they were heading to their lovely campsite at the foot of the Fuente De cable car ride. At the campsite a slippery cobble lock steep path proved to be a problem for Derek when his bike began to slide. Luckily the experienced biker managed to hold it and with the help of a few locals he got the bike back up the path for the turn off to the pitch site.Mick, on the other hand played safe and left his bike at the top of the slippery path! He didn’t fancy doing the Fred Flinstone. Potes, our base for the night is a beautiful old town, with stone bridges, arches etc.
What You Lookin At?
We had breakfast around the camp fire the following morning. The scenery there was beautiful. We then commenced the ascent to the clouds by cable car. It is an impressive eight hundred metre climb, the last part which is almost vertical and it all takes just three minutes. It’s the longest cable in Europe. Needles to say the views from above were stunning. There are various pathways for the energetic types and if you buy a one way ticket you can walk down. We did wonder before our climb, why there was a slurry collector and tractor at the top? Was there a very busy bathroom up there? (The clean version). Back to Potes then and we parted company with the Happy Campers and we followed the N621 over the mountain to Riano. The climb took us to 1600 metres on a twisty road with the odd cow pat. Mick did verify that this was actually cow manure and we bow to his expertise! The bears had yet to be seen! Riano is a new town built on a lake/reservoir. The original town was in the valley that was flooded for that purpose. The lakes are scenic with themountains in the back ground and a selfie just had to be taken at, what is described as “the most beautiful bench in Spain” Again unbelievably cheap tapas and wine in the local bars. Mick and Derek did this journey the following day. They met a welsh couple on a Harley at the viewing point and got a German biker to take their picture. Derek got to Riano, stopped at a petrol station and tried to lose Mick who came through and continued for a further 20km before realising that the “few houses back there” was actually Riano! They reunited for lunch and had a chat with two London biker ladies and another English couple.
We meanwhile, took the scenic route, the P210 to Cervera and on to Aguilar de Campoo. At Aguilar we discussed our route with a friendly tour guide who recommended lots of sites in the area, including an erotic church, the carvings on which would make our Sile na Gigs blush!!Unfortunately, not having time for that particular diversion, we pushed on following the Rio Ebro on the CA272 and wound our way through to Polientes and Orbaneja Del Castillo with its beautiful waterfall, lakes and rock formations. The next town was Manzanedo, taking the N232 on to Ona. Base for the night was a very quaint little hotel, looking out on the Benedictine Convent, in another little gem of a town that is Ona. More tapas, this time not on bread! (Don’t know how these Spanish women maintain their figures!
Mick and Derek woke up to a massive thunderstorm the next morning. They waited out the storm, before packing up their tents and moving on. They waited till 2pm and even then the weather was dodgy. They made their way to Potes for lunch and some last minute shopping. Another nameless rider mislaid his mobile phone but didn’t realise this until he stopped for a smoke and coffee some 95kms later at Unquera. After futile attempts to talk to someone in the tourist office in Potes, it was decided to accept the phone was lost. They had booked a hotel in Santilana; on arrival they discovered that a twin room turned out to be a double bed only. The two guys explained to the receptionist that while they were buddies they were not gay and would prefer 2 single beds which were duly provided. Next morning while packing their bikes the same poor receptionist had to chase them down, waving a piece of paper. They were making their escape without paying? Doing a legger? Sure it was an honest oversight.
Santander was our goal the next day. We took theN629 and stopped for lunch at Ampuero. They were preparing for the annual Bull Run that was taking place the following weekend .Some streets were lined with the heavy duty fencing. Santander has enough tapas bars to keep one munching for some time. They really are works of art. On our last day we did a short tour towardsSantona. Up to now everything was running smoothly. At midday on our coffee break the air in the front tyre made a bid for freedom. It succeeded. It was raining and siesta time had commenced. The local Moto shop was closed. Eventually a Good Samaritan appeared in 4 wheel drive and offered to take me to the local Repsol garage for a magic can of puncture repair foam. It worked. I now love those 4 wheelers. (Note to self) Never travel without a magic can.
Santilana del Mar
Mick and Derek, on their last morning, headed for a s---hole called Laredo, full of surfer dudes! The highlight of this spin was some beautiful apple tart which they copped in a cafe. On taking the first bite they were a little dismayed to discover it was actually a Spanish omelette!(maybe a trip to specsavers required on returning dwelling) They wisely decided to return to Santander to be on time for the ferry. Back in Santander, also with loads of time to spare, we decided to make a last trip to a favourite tapas bar, Casa Lita, discovered the night before. This was a stone’s throw from the Big Ship. On the previous night the elder scout/camper had studied the stars in detail.”Polaris will guide us on our journey tomorrow, oh Mighty One without phone”, he had said. “We will head north to find the great seahorse that will take us to Cork. You will ride the great silver one and I will follow, that way I can collect all you have forgotten and with my help you will be Triumphant “That was indeed what they did.
If it wasn't for Derek it would have been just another day of making a hollow living. Except for Derek. He fancied a trip and wanted the companionship of his bessie playmates from last year. Four would be good. Six would be ideal. The universal randomness of bad weather split the difference giving him five. Dub and Paul arrived outside the point and watched the early morning traffic clog up the city quays giving Dublin a coronary. JP shortly followed and jumped from his bike with a mischievious grin that was destined to last the weekend. Nuggy was going to be late and told us to meet him at the boat. We didn't have long to wait for the perspicacious pensioner the aspiring curmudgeon to arrive, have a smoke and be chomping to get going. He lead the light brigade through Dublin Port traffic. Derek can bully an articulated lorry out of his way. His bike has outlived him so a dent is an insignificant irritant. I kid you not. He lead us around an artic at the roundabout leading to the Port. If his chest had been a cannon he would have shot his heart upon it. Nuggy was not far behind and our entrance to the ferry port was quick and efficient apart from the minor brush JP had with Irish officialdom with dialogue worthy of D'Unbelievables. Port Official to JP...."Will you be ready to go in two minutes?" JP..."I'm ready to go now....". Port Official to JP......"Yes but will you be ready to go in two minutes?" Queue circular recursive conversation.... Had JP been evil minded he could easily have led the poor port official around with a carrot due to the poor dullards brain not having a reset button.
Bording the Jonathan Swift was swif. Being middle aged bike affording capitalists we could afford the ticket for the faster ferry. The slightly aging vessel with twin hulls. The boat. Not us. Derek staked a claim to some prime real estate seats near the breakfast counter. We loaded up breakfasts fit for a lorry driver. All except for one who had the healthy option. The crossing started off pretty smoothly and much progress was made. We took pride in passing out the larger ferry on the way evidenced by shakey fist gestures and mooning out the portholes. Karmic punishment was came like the name of the boat.....Swift. One of our unfortunate members felt a little sea sick and thinking the sick bag was a tissue tried to wipe his mouth with it as he shed the load on the floor. Thank goodness it was the healthy option. I was feeling a bit off myself so I went up on deck to join Derek in a discussion about 42. From our vantage point I could see how rough the crossing actually was. The cheap Tom Tom gps installed in the boat was having trouble keeping a straight course and we could see the zig-zag course followed in the ships wash. It wasn't long before we were saddling up again and preparing to disembark.
Derek was itching to get going. As soon as the bike was unbridled he nudged it up to the top of the queue ready for the bow to drop. A burly Eastern European made him move it back. This was one juggernaut Derek was not going to bully. So we got off last. Simple instructions were issued to the five. Meet outside customs. What could go wrong. Four of us arrive only to find after War and Peace of texts that one of the lads was in a layby half way to Bangor. After the glitch was sorted and we together it was a trip through the beautiful coast road of Wales in the general direction of Warrington. Despite three satnavs and a cheap android phone with google maps, navigation was not going to be an exact science. We pulled in em....somewhere after about an hour driving for a much deserved and need McDonalds, slag, laugh and piss break and we did them all in vast quantities and enjoyed the sunshine. We fuelled up and headed off again in the general direction of Northish. Weather was excellent for taking it easy and enjoying the countryside. We stopped off in a quaint town about thirty miles from our hostel called "in the middle of nowhere", where they say owrite a lot, for a coffe and some buns. They were pure heaven and it was a good spot to watch the world pass by. At sundown we passed the great lake Ullswindewentconicrummbutterwater and it was a perfect square. As magnificent as it was long. Derek's satnav brought us to the wrong hostel which was not a problem because we got to admire Ullswindewentconicrummbutterwater twice. I was glad when we pulled up on the roadway in front of a sign saying "YHA".
We should have known we were in the vicinity of the youth hostel due to the faint but distinctive cry of an old local bird. "Yicantparkere....Yicantparkere". Nuggy, being our resident ornithologist, went down to check if it was an eagle or a buzzard. It looked like an old specimen of the latter whose laying days were well gone. Whatever it was, Nuggy managed to sweet talk it. Must have fed its ego with some crumbs. Story was, no car park for the hostel even if Derek saw one on google maps. That was her carpark and Yicantparkere.....This was the hostel's only drawback. A lack of a carpark. We had to find somewhere to squeeze in the bikes which took us a while. It would have been easier had two gobshites on GS's not parked them lengthways. The hostel was everything we wanted it to be. Clean. Comfortable. Has food and beer. Only problem is you have to be up early to put parking disks on the bikes or you get a ticket because Yicantparkere. We staked our claims to bunks and fecked off into town for a walk and food in a local pub. This was after Selfie JP managed to persuade one of the local planet savers (cyclist) to take a pic of us.
Early rise to put the disks on the bikes before 8 a.m. and early breakfast.......for Paul. I stayed in bed until 9.30 just before breakfast finished. We headed off after breakfast, smoke break and time for Selfie JP to grab another selfie. Simple plan time. Visit lots of places in no particular order but primarily a circuitous route bringing us back where we started for food, large fart and a kip. We set off through the stunningly beautiful countryside and ended up in a pub for coffee in the middle of nowhere. The first answer to all our questions was "oilgocheck". Questions such as have you got wifi, do you serve coffee, have you any scones and do you understand simple quntum electrodynamics? Nevertheless it was a gorgeous quaint pub and we consumed copious coffee and spent plently of time laughing and plotting the course for the rest of the day. Besides the innkeeper was awaiting a wedding party of locals and no doubt he was hoping we would not occupy space in his carpark much longer. We backtracked and found a place for lunch with two pricelists. One for us and one for the local oiks with poop on their shoes. Lunch was excellent all the same and worth the slight premium. Wouldn't it be fun to take in the Honister, Hardknott and Wrynose pass?
Incredibly beautiful. Worth the effort. To be done once. Should have a health warning. I was in Wales mountain biking in the years when my lack of understanding of mortality and bone fragility permitted such things. There was a very large sign at the start of the advanced part of the bike track designed to deter the unwary, the showoff and the imbecile. It was a direct warning that the track is difficult. It said don't consider it unless your bike and your skills are up to it followed by advice to turn back now and come back when they are and don't give in to peer pressure. That is a proper sign letting you know in advance what is coming up. The only advice I got before heading over the pass was "keep your revs up on the bends. If the motor cuts you are going over." If you have four wheels or a donkey it is a lot easier. I did a search on YouTube to show the wife the beauty of the pass when I got home only to discover tons of videos of bike crashes. Most of them were by people who had proper off road bikes, not lumbering tourers like mine. If you are going to do this the scenery is well worth taking the time and effort. Bear in mind that the only way down in the event of a spill is by large helicopter. You are in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a sheep or mountain goat for wipeage when you poop yourself. No Andrex puppies to be found in this part of the world. The only thing worse than a soaking for a biker is logging the leathers. Thankfully none of us met with a spill.
The view from as high as you can get
Nuggy's loan bike gets a well earned rest
Flaked out FJR and RT
Good sales pic for Donedeal next week
Selfie John's bike. Not a bother on it. It's a Honda.
Hardknott toilet emergency ration
Sunday morning was overcast and threatening rain. Up early so we could see some more sights and have a lazy an uneventful trip back to Holyhead for the boat home. Much was made of the possible routes. Transport museums. More lakes. Coast roads and many others. Breakfast was lazy enough to provide thinking time over a bowl of porridge. There were enough permutations and combinations to make a maths teacher drool. We agreed to take it handy and pull in after an hour in the saddle. Rain gear was donned as rain looked very likely. When we set off it was only a short time before the constant drizzly rain appeared. We headed off to a spot an hour down the road and pulled in to a sleepy town to get a coffee and smoke break for Derek. I can't remember the name of the town which is just as well as it deserved to be instantly forgettable. Nothing was open. Even the church was closed. We headed off again and hit traffic on the M6. We snaked through stagnant traffic for miles. When we got to the top we discovered the delay was due to an accident and the emergency services had closed the road until they moved some wreckage. Nuggy was ahead of me acting as pathfinder for myself and Paul. He politely asked the driver of a SUV to move back a few inches to let us pass. He responded with something along the lines of "why should you get past us. You should wait like the rest of us". Nuggy said we were trying to get to the boat. The reply was "we are all trying to get somewhere". Nuggy was remarkably calm even though the gent concerned was behaving like a 1960's French communist. The guy relented when nuggy said he didn't want to damage his car. I wonder what Derek would have said to them....
The delay on the M6 severely eroded our leeway. It shows the importance of leaving wriggle room in route planning. When the road was reopened we hight tailled it rapidly in the direction of Wales. We were starving and dehydrated at this stage so we stopped off for a quick coffee and in my case, a delicious cherry bakewell tart and a bucket of tea. It was a welcome break and we were soon back on the road again. After another hour in the saddle we veered off into Llandudno for another coffee. We drove all the way through and could not find a single coffee shop open. Note to Llandudno tourism......people drink coffee. Nuggy's knowledge of the area was first class and he used his skill to bring us to a toll road at the other side of the town. Everybody knows that the CRRG hates toll roads and never pays a toll. In this instance the toll was well worth it. It is a one way road along the side of the mountain. The view is only incredible and not to be missed. We paused along the way for a photo call and eats before making the run to the Holyhead. We had plenty of time to spare and the trip home was uneventful. Nobody attempted to see if the contents of their stomach would fit in a tissue on the return leg. Goodbyes were said in Dublin and here ends the second CRRG international spin. Roll on next year. Wherever it is, may it have a car park.
It takes an age to get to this fabulous view
Nice plce to rest Dub's RT
Quain little inn. Great coffee.
Selfie John at it again
Derek's head spins after Nuggy's Karate chop
JP's first selfie of the weekend
The stars of the weekend. Not one breakdown or accident between them
Wait until you see what is ahead....
We started in Dublin and took the ferry to Holyhead. From there we took the quickest route to Glossop which is close to Manchester. Then up to Holmfirth to the Last of the Summer Wine film location. How did I manage not to see a single episode of this famous series that ran for forty years? Sid’s Cafe is still intact and open for business. Then back to Glossop to take the Snake Pass to Bamford .A very scenic route. Our first night was at the Ladybower Inn looking out at the reservoir lakes. A good watering hole. These lakes were used by the Dam busters for practice during WW 2. The Fry up was even better than Mother Hubbards.
Lovely country roads and lanes to beautiful Edale, the starting point for the “Pennine Way “and the Bikers Inn (Hikers). This was close to Kinder Scout the highest peak in the district. Walkers everywhere. From there we headed for Castleton, a stunning ride through valleys and hills. The windy weather made it even more interesting. Next came Baslow, then on to Bakewell, the biggest town in the district.Matlock Bath seems like a nice place but we didn’t touch down there.
Our second stay was at Wheat Sheaf Inn Baslow. Oldie worldy Inn, good food too with friendly staff and the odd smelly walker. I was reminded that it might be a smelly biker? Once again a contender for fry up gold here. Beside Chatsworth House here but due to its opening times we didn’t get to visit, though we did ride through part of the estate.
A lovely ride from Buxton to Prestbury via Macclesfield over the moors. Again a lot of wind to contend with. The road is a busy artery over the hills. Never the less I would recommend this route. We then headed for our third and last stay in Chester. Here we stayed at Roomzzz, a modern tidy apartment type room. Chester lived up to its reputation with its lovely buildings, Castle ruins, Roman amphitheatre and river walks. It’s said to have the prettiest race course in the UK. It’s located within a stone’s throw from the town centre and bordered by the river Dee. A continental job here (breakfast) A quick spin back to Holyhead to catch the return ferry.
The Honda performed well and got the thumbs up from the missus. No flies in the teeth burnt skin or numb crotch. 501 miles clocked up door to door. SEE PHOTOS BELOW
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. Del was bored. He had a motorbike, lots of biker friends and weektly trips to sate his need for the aforementioned and yet there was something missing. More bends perhaps? Different bends? Foreign bends? Careful, meticulous and lengthy planning was initiated. There could be no rush. Everything must be planned with military precision. Just like a presedential campaign. The right moment had to be chosen to announce the plan. A wrong move and his brainchild would be subject to the usual CRRG derision and result in solitary cornering. What is such skill without friends to admire them...........from behind......and afar.
The day of revelation of his great invasion plan had arrived. At the usual CRRG spin to YAFA, breakfast consumed, Del searched in vain for the back of the envelope. Like all good generals, in the absence of his plan he decided to wing it or lose the opportunity to strike and fade into oblivion. With confidence befitting a UKIP leader, the plan was unleashed. "Eh lads, I'm thinking of going to Wales for a weekend, anybody interested?". The lads briefly glanced with incredulous interest at the audacity of such a plan. Details were sought to allay their disbelief. Del summarised, "hop a ferry from Rosslare to Fishguard, drive to Snowdonia, visit an old slate mine, next day drive to Holyhead and boat home and we can find a place to kip along the way, meet at camp NMK at 6.45AM sharp". Acknowledging his vision, Dub signed up straight away. After some thought and the lack of all Ireland football tickets, Paul was next and shortly followed by JP. The four horsemen were bringing their apocalypse to Wales.
Invasion day arrived. The fleet merged at various points along the route to meet general Del sharp at 6.45AM. Dub and Paul arrived at the appointed Topaz service station at camp NMK to find JP already there. Not a sign of Del to be seen. Speculation was rife amongst the troops. Slept it out. He was at the wrong garage, the one across the street perhaps. The most likely explanation was he was waiting to make a grand entrance to inspect the troops and have a smoke. The truth was more bizarre. A Yamaha Fazer pulls into the station. We all thougth, "typical Mick, decided to go at the last minute, keep stum and steal the general's thunder". The dismount came with panache. The rider approached and removed his helmet to reveal............Del. It transpired that his trusty Pan had panned and his best mate Mick lent him his Yamaha on condition it came back in better condition and there were to be hourly reports sent back on the state of the bike with timestamped pictures for evidence. Del had a timeshare bike. Mick would have been proud of Del's mission statement. "We are going to Wales for sightseeing and to enjoy ourselves. We will stick to the speed limit and enjoy the scenery as it unfolds and we will all get back in one piece". Oratory befitting Cicero.
We made short work work of the trip to Rosslare on the bright but slightly chilly morning and admired the unhurried Irish sunrise along the way. We stuffed the bikes with petrol and proceeded to the ticket office to book passage to Aldershot. Del did the negotiating. The ferry capable of doing the Kessel run in less than 200 parsecs was unavailable. Aldershot was out so Del got a reduction in the fare to Wales. I thought he used a Jedi mind techinque but instead it was the tried and trusted Irish Pensioners trick. Either way the few quid was saved to go towards the hearty breakfast on the ferry.
The crossing was smooth and uneventful. If the ferry pitched yawed or rolled by as much as a degree I would be very surprised. We even tried to spot it once or twice. It was as if someone French Polished the sea for us. The only give away was the faint throb of the ancient diesel engines somewhere down below where foot passengers were stored. It was either that or JP's bowels after the breakfast. The time was passed by promenading around the upper decks and listening to stories from a former Mountie on how 90 year olds play rugby. He left out the bit about bibs and incontinent shorts.
Now that Derek's smartphone was as mental mobile, I had to put our destination into the satnav. Welsh place names are always typed with the "L" key jammed. We were heading to Dolgellau, spelt D oul hack snort spit hock cough ow. Sounds like it anyway. I got through an entire pack of Mentholyptus over the next two days to clear that up. My poor satnav thought I was a Klingon. We took our time getting to our lodgings. There was no choice because the lads were following me for a change. The weather was ideal for biking and our pace was perfect for admiring the best scenery any country could offer. Thunderbird 5 was clearly visible so John Tracey fed the coordinates for Kings Hostel direct to my satnav. That last mile or so up to the place was suitable for GS riders so we took it handy. Thank god it was dry.
Bikes were soon abandoned in an orderly manner and before we knew it, Mick had us checked in and booked for dinner, drinks and breakfast. Food, gargle and beds are well up to standard fit for visiting four horsemen of the apocalypse. We had a generous dinner, plenty of drinks and a hearty breakfast with an abundance of extra beans and still had change from a farthing. I don't drink so I retired early but was kept awake by the sounds of the other hosemen belching, snoring, farting and scratching the contents of their clacker bags. JP was first to rise and complained that he was kept awake by the three of us belching, snoring and farting. Paul arose next and complained he could not sleep due to the badly tuned band of belching, snoring and farting. Derek wondered what all the fuss was about. He turned off his hearing aid.
Derek was first to the courtyard with a towel he brought specially to clean the timeshare bike. JP gave his the once over while Paul did not need to as the dirt was afraid of the brand new Yammy. I wasn't arsed. We left the track slowly and headed to D oul hack snort spit hock cough ow. It was closed. Derek found a place open where he could load up with water and smokes. I loaded another unpronouncable place into the sat nav and we headed off down country roads to half way to wherever it was. We passed the dog asleep in the middle of the road and stopped in a small town packed full of Sunday drivers. We dumped the bikes by the side of the road and had coffee in a small cafe. Beautiful spot full of tree huggers, English Toffs, lapsed hippies and old women with dogs named Topsie. Derek's plan was to visit the Llecwedd slate mine so off we went back up the same road, passed the sleeping dog in the middle of the road and got lost.
We were smack bang in the middle of Blaenau Ffestiniog arguing over which direction to take when I had a glimmer of inspiration. It turned out that the mine was in the Points of Interest section on my satnav so once I selected it, it brought us right to the entrance. I got lost somewhere between the entrance and the pay in office. If you are ever in the vicinity of Gwynedd a visit and tour of this mine is well worth the effort. The tour we received four hundred feet below the surface was entertaining, terrifying, moving and edifying. Describing it here would not do it justice. Go and see it for yourself. I intend to return and see it again someday. When we surfaced the lads went to the coffee shop. I went looking for somewhere quiet. After all the excitement, I was dying for a sh***. When I got back I was surprised the lads waited that long and they even found me a mince pie.
Llechwedd Slate Mine was the highlight of the trip. After that it was a slow coast back towards the ferry. We stopped of in Betws-y-Coed for a smoke break and stayed a while enjoying the procession of cruising old cars, Harleys and all manner of transport out for a leisurely spin. Apparently this happens every Sunday in Betws-y-Coed. Caernarfon Castle was punched into the sat nav and off we went. The scenery on that back road through the valley was jaw droppingly stunning. The road was full of bends. Derek had multiple orgasms. He was taking it handy because Mick told him that the timeshare FJR doesn't take corners properly. When we arrived at Caernarfon Castle, it was shut. It was starting to rain so Derek gave me a list of waypoints along the coast route to Holyhead.
We gave ourselves plenty of time to get to Holyhead. The obligatory pint was consumed before a leisurely boarding. The trip home was as pleasant as the trip out, ferry food was acceptable, the company was excellent and the water was smooth. Derek confided in us that he repaired the problem with his timshare bike. It now takes corners. To summarise, the planning was the work of pure genius. Turn up with a bike. Bring a towel and a change of jocks, petrol and drink money and let rip. Keep the plan simple. There was a minor incident in Betws-y-Coed which was handled with stoicism and panache befitting a CRRG member. The details of this are staying in Wales. It is sufficient to say that a little rain falls on every trip but the people involved deserve the utmost admiration for the way they handled themselves. I salute them.
I am eagerly awaiting Derek's next invasion.
Dub.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in posession of a good bike must be in need of travelling companions. There is nothing comparable to the unique comeraderie between biking companions. It's a question often asked by non-bikers and those new to powered two wheeled transport to explain this visible bond between members of the biking fraternity. The casual nod, the flash of the headlight to warn of approaching speed vans, the brief lift of the leg from the peg and the willingness to stop and lend a hand. Those who have been on bikes for a significant portion of their lives accept it for the gift that it is.
An event that reminds us all of this in the CRRG and brings us together in the greatest posse of bikes on a trip for the year, every year, is the annual convoy to Christy & Ger's holiday home in Rosslare. An unfortunate accident on the bike brought a sudden end to his attendance on rideouts. Thankfully he was made a near full recovery and still has an interest in bikes and looks forward to his pals gathering together to wish him well and eat all his wife Ger's food.
Our trip began at the usual lager point in Tallaght, Dublin with the order issued from on high to arrange the 13 bikes in a straight line at the garage, facing the same direction with the front wheel forward. It should have been known by now that organising bikers, most of whom are Celtic Bikers with the occasional Italian and Pole thrown in, is a task akin to attempting to get a pack of deaf hunting hounds to sit. The result looked like a backstreet motorcycle mechanics garage on a Monday morning after advertising a special for couriers. Bikes abandoned everywhere. The only difference is ours are slightly better maintained. After the obligatory wait, the smoking and non-smoking groups merged for the trip down to Ballon for breakfast in The Forge, one of our favourite places on the planet for breakfast mainly due to the lady that runs it loves to see us coming and has tables reserved for us. Although there was sixteen of us, breakfast was up to the usual delicious standards and ran like clockwork. One would imagine that at this stage the parking would have improved as there was acres more space for bike positioning. You can judge for yourselves but before you do, just remember that this is not all of the bikes. At least two are out of the picture and at the other side of the car park. It can be clearly seen that there is some debate on merits of proper ethical parking.
Bellys full, armoured jackets and leggings adjusted and lower bowel gas ejected, we headed off to Rosslare. We had ideal Irish biking weather. It was like John's humour.....dry. Apart for the occasional small town traffic jams, the trip south was enjoyable generally speaking, good time was made by all to our next lager point, Lady's Island, Rosslare. Our Lady's Island is a location of zero significance or interest to anyone who is not retarded or who is not in posession of a restricted bike and a learner's tabard. It has an ice cream shop, a church and a toilet. The toilet was shut due to bad aiming on the part of the locals, we had no time for ice cream and nobody was being married christened or dead. There is an old Gaelic word which eloquently describes such a place............KIP. How Alan found anything interesting to photograph while streatching his legs I will never know. The sermon of the day was a quote from Catherine of Sienna. "If you are what you should be, you can set the world on fire". Well I was what I should have been..............bored, but I left my arson kit at home. We did however rendezvous with our good friend Johnners and headed off. I made good use of my time management skills to take the following photograph. I wonder if it is divine inspiration for Ireland in a post Brexit era.
If I could quote Einstein, that would be really clever. To paraphrase his general theory of relativity applied to bikers, time spent bored, motionless and in a place of heavy gravity (kip to us Dubliners) passes slowly and those sophoric minutes seem like aeons while time spent moving on a motorcycle passes all too quickly in proportion to its enjoyment. So we set off after a few thousand years and headed to Christy's gated holiday camp. Praise be to Alan up to now as he achieved something more wonderous than Hannibal leading an army of elephants over the alps to do battle with the Romans. He lead the entire convoy from Dublin to Our Lady's Island without losing the last rider from from view in his rear view mirror. It's even more phenomenal than getting a four Euro chicken from Aldi when you consider the mirror on those huge BMW bikes is so small.
After a brief spin through the town, we were there. All ten arrived to clear immigration and security to get passed the locked gates of Christy's paradise. I did say ten bikes three bikes including The Leader who had been there before, who never gets lost and had a pillion for direction and a satnav, got lost. They never spotted the event horizon and vanished into a black hole or un-signposted Irish bog roads and to make things worse, nobody noticed. After security clearance, the gates began to slide open slowly to the theme tune of Thunderbirds running through my head and the sound of twelve snarling bikes ready to launch at Mondello Park. We revved the nuts off the bikes to scare all the kids but the louder we revved the more the little tikes enjoyed it. We carefully arranged the bikes artistically to look a Salvador Dali painting. The welcome we got from Christy, Ger and all the inhabitants was truly legendary. It was heartening to see so many, the majority in fact, of CRRG members taking the time to visit one of our own. Even the neighbours helped Ger with baking the cakes and making the sandwiches. I had sent word ahead that they would all be murdered in their beds and their children sold into slavery if there wasn't proper tribut paid and respect shown. All the good stuff was eaten quickly or stuffed into panniers before Alan arrived. Gallons of tea was served to all by Ger along with apple tart worthy of someone who sits on the Iron Throne. Alan presented Christy with a memento of the occasion and a special guest turned up to wish him well.
We spent a couple of hours enjoying Christy and Ger's hospitality and catching up on all the goss. For me it was the highlight of the years trips so far. Unfortunately, Christy's mobile home was not big enough to cater for fourteen smelly bikers and me so the time came to leave. Daragh was delighted as he gained second opportunity to try and scare the children. This time the soundtrack was the Imperial March from Star Wars as we hit the long road back to Dublin. Next years trip can't come soon enough.
Dubmark
After the photos were taken and the smokes finished up we travelled on to the island of Quiberon (On the suggestion of French Biker we met on the Ferry). Quiberon proved to be a little disappointing including lunch in Casino/restaurant which was a little stuffy for our casual dress and holiday frame of mind. Undeterred we made our way to the town of Pornic which was Approx 320 KM down the road from Roscoff. The trip was sunny and enjoyable and after some nice sight seeing stops we eventually reached our first campsite via an amazing bridge which I don't believe we have a picture of as there were no great stopping points on either side. The campsite was great with all of the mod cons including swimming pool, bar, restaurant, clean hot showers and did I mention a bar? Anyway we parked
up the bikes, donned the shorts and t shirts, pitched the tents and started the relaxing part.
We arrived at the Ferry in good time and having driven up a very steep ramp parked our bikes. We were joined by three other bikers (French riders and WAGS) on the ferry. We were given a piece of carpet to protect the seat of bike from dirty straps. Bike owners have to secure their bikes on this ferry.
We left Bourges around 11.30am and headed off on a journey (which was to be become the longest and most difficult with the lousiest weather conditions we were to endure on our entire trip).
Fantastic scenery along this route with plenty of viewing points. Also noted a few of the local Biker enthusiasts sweeping around the bends like Michael Dunlop. (Alan ,Dermot JR this is the place for you)
Later that evening we stopped off in the delightful little village of Montclus. This is a local heritage site and most of the original buildings have or are being restored. Many are unoccupied but we did manage to locate the one and only pub (must be an Irish thing !)
We had a final nightcap in a bar in Barjac and had a bit of banter with the owner who could converse in English. He told us about his Scottish friend and read to us a poem about Mrs Thatcher.
We discover that it is closed for the night. (no night porter and front door is locked). Derek presses a bell and believes it hears a lady’s voice mentioning “massage”. Obviously it was the usual recording asking Derek to leave a “message” but poor command of the French language leads to various interpretations of simple words. Thinking that he has booked a “knocking shop” we head off and try to get alternative accommodation but most hotels are full. At this stage I mention that if we had a car we could at least sleep in the car. Eventually we find the IBIS hotel and book in for the night. It is now past 12am and we adjourn to the residents bar for a few well earned beers.
